


in our bedroom after the war

by joshllyman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post High School, ignores time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshllyman/pseuds/joshllyman
Summary: A normal morning consists of Shouyou and Tooru competing to see who could make the bigger mess of the kitchen, loudly preparing breakfast for the three of them while Hajime responds to the most urgent of emails at his desk in the office. By the time Hajime enters, yawning and stretching, the kitchen is spotless and breakfast is plated, and Tooru trades him a mug of coffee for a kiss on the cheek. They eat together, everyone’s legs tangled under the table, and then Tooru and Shouyou head off to practice while Hajime goes back out to the office and starts work for the day.This is not a normal day.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Iwaizumi Hajime, Hinata Shouyou/Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 18
Kudos: 197





	in our bedroom after the war

It’s raining outside.

It shouldn’t be the first thing Hajime notices when he wakes up, but it is. It’s raining outside when it hasn’t rained in almost two months. The sound the drops make as they splatter against the window is soothing, a balm against the rawness of his heart. 

His bed partners are giving him space for once; this is the second thing he notices. Normally he’s in the middle and they both cling to him like dying men cling to a safety raft, but last night Tooru had collapsed in the middle, and Shouyou had curled into his other side, and it seems that they barely moved in the night. Shouyou’s chest rises and falls in time with Tooru’s. His red hair splays out in a crown around his head, covering Tooru’s arm where it cradles him. Tooru didn’t wipe off his makeup before he went to bed, and there’s eyeliner mixed with tears tracking from the crease of his eye down his face to the pillow, where it’s stained the pillowcase. A small, irritated, irritating part of Hajime’s brain can’t help but to observe that he just washed the sheets and now they’ll need done again, and then the larger part of his brain tells him to shut up.

Tooru, in his sleep, reaches for Hajime’s hand, and Hajime takes it without thinking and squeezes it once.

_ I’m still here. _

Tooru sighs, and Shouyou buries his head a little deeper in his chest.

Gently, slowly, Hajime pulls his hand away from Tooru. There’s half a second where Hajime thinks he may have woken him, but he merely throws it over Shouyou’s back and lets out a snore. Hajime breathes a sigh of relief as he pads into the kitchen.

A normal morning consists of Shouyou and Tooru competing to see who could make the bigger mess of the kitchen, loudly preparing breakfast for the three of them while Hajime responds to the most urgent of emails at his desk in the office. By the time Hajime enters, yawning and stretching, the kitchen is spotless and breakfast is plated, and Tooru trades him a mug of coffee for a kiss on the cheek. They eat together, everyone’s legs tangled under the table, and then Tooru and Shouyou head off to practice while Hajime goes back out to the office and starts work for the day. 

This is not a normal day.

Hajime prepares breakfast alone, the sound of the rain against the windows and the sizzling of eggs his only companions. He considers breakfast in bed, but changes his mind, opting to let them sleep instead. He knows they haven’t slept in days. 

He eats breakfast one-handed, the other scrolling through news articles on his phone. Of course there’s coverage of the national team, and their huge loss against Brazil in the semifinals, and how everyone expected them to go on and win gold and now there will be no medal whatsoever for them. How the famed dream team of Oikawa Tooru and Hinata Shouyou had been bested, defeated in a spectacular loss that had them scrambling, behind from the start and never able to catch up.

“Hey,” says a tired voice, and Hajime nearly drops his phone.

“Tooru,” he says, a little too loudly. He winces at his own volume and adjusts as he continues. “I wasn’t expecting you to be up yet.”

Tooru shrugs and moves to the counter, his body hunched and his limbs slow. “Smelled coffee.”

Hajime watches wordlessly as he pours himself a mug. He adds nothing to it, not his usual milk and sugar, not creamer, not even an ice cube, and takes a long swig of it without blinking. He grips it in one hand, presses a kiss to the top of Hajime’s head, and shuffles off in the direction of the couch. 

Hajime wishes he knew what to say.

He finishes the last few bites of his own breakfast and dumps some rice and eggs in a bowl for Tooru. Tooru doesn’t acknowledge the bowl as Hajime sets it down gingerly on the table in front of the couch. Tooru curls up his long legs and gestures to the end of the couch. Hajime takes up his usual spot.

“Do you mind?” Tooru asks quietly, wriggling his toes so they’re trapped underneath Hajime’s thigh.

Hajime shakes his head and uses his free hand to grasp Tooru’s calf. “Not at all.”

He meets Tooru’s eyes for half a moment; the eyeliner is gone, his hair free of product. Tooru leans his head back and stares up at the ceiling.

“Do you want to talk?” Hajime asks.

“What is there to say?” 

Hajime nods, and his hand squeezes Tooru’s calf without thinking. “I’m here if you change your mind.”

Tooru drifts in and out of sleep for the next hour while Hajime answers emails on his phone. In one moment he sits up and reaches for the coffee that Hajime imagines is now lukewarm, sipping from it with a grimace painted on his face. In the next his feet are twitching beneath Hajime’s leg, his breath hitching and his fingers fisting in the fabric of the couch as he dreams. Hajime’s inbox should long be empty but he can’t stop watching, can’t stop worrying. He knows there’s absolutely nothing he can do, knows Tooru and Shouyou will have to shake off this loss and keep fighting for the next round, and yet he wants nothing more in the world than to take this pain away from them, from both of them. He’d shoulder it all if it meant they didn’t have to.

“You didn’t wake me for breakfast.”

Hajime turns, and Shouyou is standing at the arm of the couch. He’s tamed his hair just enough to pull it up into a messy bun on top of his head, and he’s stolen one of Hajime’s sweatshirts. It should look ridiculous on him, the bottom of it down past his ass, his pale, bare legs a stark contrast to the black fabric, his shoulders swimming in the shadow of Hajime’s broad back, but on Shouyou it just seems...right. 

“You needed the sleep, Shouyou,” he says. “Tooru didn’t eat his. His bowl’s just there, if you want to throw it in the microwave.”

Shouyou shrugs, the fabric of the sweatshirt sliding further down his arms. He leans down to press a kiss to Hajime’s lips. Hajime meets his eyes, not as bright as usual, and offers him a smile that is only sort of returned. Shouyou grabs Tooru’s forgotten bowl and plops down on the ground. He eats carelessly, as he tends to, bits of rice falling from his chopsticks onto the table, but Hajime knows he’ll clean up after himself. He seems unbothered by the fact that the eggs are probably spongy from sitting out and the warmth of the dish is long gone, and Hajime watches the line of his throat as he swallows, the muscles of his hands as he scoops out another bite. He picks at the rice that surrounds his bowl in the aftermath of his breakfast and tosses it back in before returning the bowl to the kitchen sink. Tooru wakes, arching his back in a stretch, and looks over at Shouyou, on his way back from the kitchen with his own coffee. Immediately Shouyou sets down his mug; before Hajime can blink, Shouyou’s situated himself mostly on top of Tooru, his head against Tooru’s chest and their legs tangled together.

It’s moments like these that Hajime wants to lose himself in. It’s moments like these, when the twenty centimeters of height difference between them is indistinguishable because they’re so wrapped up in each other he can hardly tell one from the other, when the paleness of Shouyou’s skin blends perfectly into the tanned tone of Tooru’s, when the two men he loves are at peace with each other and with the world, that Hajime wants to bottle up and live inside for as long as he possibly can.

“We lost,” Shouyou murmurs, and Tooru sighs in response.

“We lost.”

Tooru runs a hand down Shouyou’s back absentmindedly, and when he reaches the base of his spine he reaches for Hajime. Hajime takes his hand again, clasps their fingers together, and rests it lightly on Shouyou’s thigh. Tooru presses a soft kiss against the top of Hinata’s head. Hajime picks Tooru’s hand up and brushes his lips against each finger before setting it back down. 

“We’ll always have Paris,” Shouyou says, and Tooru laughs, a quiet thing that bursts out of his chest in a huff. 

“You’ve never even seen that movie.”

“Have you?”

“No, but I bet Hajime has.”

“I have.”

“See? I was right.”

Shouyou kisses Tooru, their lips smacking together loudly. It’s the most noise either of them has made all morning, and the burst of joy in Hajime’s heart takes him by surprise. Shouyou sits up, tugging Tooru along after him, and he presses his back into Hajime’s chest. Hajime looks down at him. 

“It’s raining,” Shouyou says, a small smile playing over his lips.

“It’s raining,” Hajime affirms.

Shouyou looks at him, and then at Tooru, and the small smile blooms into something real, a hint of his usual brightness returning to his eyes, the brightness that he falls for over and over again every morning. “If we want to get to Paris, we’d better get started.”

Tooru takes a deep breath, and then he, too, smiles, a fragile thing that Hajime treasures. “We’d better get started,” he agrees.

And so they do.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be for hinata rarepairs week but that isn't until may and i wrote this and couldn't keep it to myself tbh, i love it so much  
> "we'll always have paris" is, as you probably know, a casablanca thing but also it's because the 2024 olympics are going to be in paris  
> title from some album, idk, i've seen the title used before and couldn't get it out of my head for this piece  
> thanks always to becca sam lu august gray poppins dylan sin central


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